altean meadows, quintessence tears 2
by Faulty Paragon
Summary: Allura regrets more than she can ever say, but she can't deny her biggest regret- that she couldn't save him. Set in S6E7, during their battle. Inspired by 'Dead Girl Walking: Reprise' from Heathers: The Musical.


A/N: I just finished season 7 yesterday and I want to cry. More S7-inspired pieces coming soon. For now, another S6 finale piece with Lotura, taking place just before 'altean meadows, quintessence tears'- this time inspired by 'Dead Girl Walking: Reprise' from _Heathers: The Musical._

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altean meadows, quintessence tears 2

 **I wish your mom had been a little stronger/ I wish she stayed around a little longer**

He is beautiful.

It pains her more than anything, as she watches his face snap manically between power-hungry, sadistic smiles and screams of pain as the man she loved ( _thought_ she loved? No, _loved, loves still)_ bares his fangs against Voltron again, and again, and again. And yet, there is still grace in his movements. The same beauty that had drawn her to him from the very beginning- that charisma, that charm, that intelligence, that nobility- still seeps out of him, only now singed with crackling white lightning and howls of agony.

She breathes, "How did it come to this?" as she works with her teammates, throwing her all into every evasive manoeuvre, every attack.

Maybe Honerva is the one to blame for this- for finding the field, for insisting that they use it… for allowing herself and Zarkon to become monsters, to lead their son to become the exact same way.

 _He'll become the same way._ What else was he supposed to become?

 **I wish your dad were good! I wish grown-ups understood!**

Zarkon's reign is truly the one thing that has ruined her life. Shivers run down her spine, even in the heat of the battle, as his glowing yellow eyes flash through her mind. Countless innocents have been lost at his hands, and even though he is dead, his influence still haunts the universe like a plague that cannot be contained. He has taken away her home, her father, her people…

And her love.

She grips the controls tighter, warm skin paling on clenched fists. Another wave of shame washes over her, thinking of how Lotor had just waltzed into her life. She had just let him in, let him win her over with his warmth and his dreams, his kindness and his unbridled curiosity. Without realizing it, she had jeopardized the safety, the _future,_ of the entire universe by letting him near the lions! She had _believed_ his innocence, his lust for life!

Every single time Lotor had spoken of Altea in front of her, his eyes had _shined._ He had been but a child, excitedly explaining to her every bit of knowledge he had uncovered, showing her trinkets and artifacts, rapt with breathless wonder as she added her own anecdotes and understanding. He had gripped her hand, squeezed, smiled so _sweetly-_

 **I wish we'd met before they convinced you life is war!**

Lotor, in those moments, had been all she has ever wanted.

There is none of that sweetness in his eyes now.

In a way, she can't even blame him. If she had grown up in the middle of Galra Command, forced to suffer the scrutiny of all those around her because she was only half-Galran, forced to watch the countless crimes they committed daily, then maybe she would've snapped as well. Maybe she would've also thought that the only way out is fighting, bloodshed.

A wave of nausea surges over her, and she gags, almost vomiting in her lap. How could she even think that? How could she _justify_ to herself the idea of _genocide?_ For that is exactly what Lotor wants. All he wants is to murder and destroy, to use the knowledge of Altea to conquer the world and wipe out _everything._

Everything but her, and what remains of Altea, the people he so desperately wants to be a part of.

And yet, she cannot blame him. He is the product of Honerva and Zarkon. He is made of love that had become so twisted, so evil, that he doesn't know what the original form looks like anymore. If they had stayed by his side and shown him the beauty of life, of Altea- of _peace-_

 **I wish you'd come with me—**

Lotor's mech suit stops moving. They've won.

"But we can't just leave him!" she cries, begging and panting and every part of her body both numb and in agony all at once. Her teammates try to calm her down, begging her to see reason.

She can't say no to them, she just can't. She knows it.

With trembling fingers, she opens up the visual comm screen one last time. His expression shifts from a terrifying monster, fueled with Quintessence and lost in his own madness, to the man who had whispered words of love to her only a few ticks before.

The tears rush forth, and she cannot stop them.

They leave him, and there's no going back. She cries. Lights dance in her eyes, in her mind, and for just a brief second, she can feel his warmth, his lips pressed against her forehead, and the shimmering of Quintessence around Voltron becomes the flurry of flower petals from the holodeck of the Castle of Lions.

She screams. _Full thrusters._

That day, when she had taken him to see the only link to her past, he had held her hand. He had called that meadow, _her_ meadow, "home".


End file.
